The Last Guest

by Tess Little

  As I returned to my room and took a hot shower, I kept turning over that warning. Did the police have any reason to believe I could have killed my ex-husband?

  I was seeing Scott tomorrow, for my next interrogation. I would call him early, I thought, toweling my hair. We would meet before, talk everything over.

  I went to the kitchen for a glass of water. Paused outside Lillie’s door to listen for activity. She was watching a movie; I could hear the soundtrack strings. I held up my hand to knock—then stopped myself. Was there anything to say? Maybe Lillie was right to worry.

  My phone was vibrating when I returned to my room, and for a second I froze—was it Scott? But no: Kirsten from the board of trustees, still trying to get through. I waited until it rang itself out, then changed the settings to silent. I would call everyone back at some point. Just not now.

  I opened my laptop, found more underwater videos.

  And you are absolutely certain, Ms. Bryant Bell, that there were no other guests that night besides the eight present when police arrived at the scene?

  Actually, no, Officer—there was a ninth guest. The alien among us:

  Three hearts and, some say, nine brains.

  Suckers, two by two, which can cling to the roughest edges.

  Pigment cells, chromatophores, to camouflage instantly.

  Toxic ink to confuse predators.

  Venom to still the limbs of struggling prey.

  An intelligence we have barely begun to comprehend.

  I let the videos play and play, until I reached an old Painlevé film, black-and-white close-ups of octopus anatomy. Each time the clip ended, I started it again. Let the nobbled skin and rhythmic breaths lull my mind to nothing.

  L’œil fermé, the caption said.

  L’œil ouvert, très humain.

  * * *

  —

  I tried to spot Miguel and Richard through the window, but they were nowhere to be found. In the far, shadowed corner of the lawn, maybe, or perhaps somewhere more secluded.

  Jerry was standing by himself at the other end of the atrium. I decided to give him some company.

  “Elsie,” he said. “So you’re still here.”

  “I’ll leave soon,” I said. “Maybe one more drink.”

  “I thought Lillie was going to swing by?”

  “So did I.”

  We sipped from our glasses. I needed a refill.

  “She got caught up?” Jerry asked. I didn’t think it needed an answer and wouldn’t have known what excuse to give. He added, “Well, hey, if she’s not coming, you oughta give her this.” He handed me a little slip of paper. “Like I said, my pal Bob’s email.”

  I folded the slip and had no idea where to put it—then spotted my purse, discarded, beneath the dining table.

  “One second,” I said, and made sure the paper was safely tucked away before I could forget.

  I checked my cell again—no excuses from Lillie. Then felt for my bottled water. It was gone. How strange. I’d put it in my purse earlier, when Richard told me off. Had he confiscated it, as some kind of punishment? I made a mental note to find some water soon.

  “I wanted to tell Lillie,” Jerry said when I returned, “I thought she was great in Dominus. Knocked it out of the park.”

  I nodded, smiled. There was nothing I could say on the matter: I still hadn’t seen Lillie’s debut. I was not invited to the premiere—it was a night for her and Richard—and then it seemed wrong, pathetic, to watch it alone in a New York movie theater. And besides, she had told me she spoke only six lines, appeared in only one scene. I would have to sit through the entire drawn-out three-hour romance between a chemist and a Parisian art student, written by my ex-husband, all for six lines. In a movie theater? Where someone might see me? I was waiting for the DVD release. I thought maybe she and I could watch it together.

  And I was adept at changing the topic, whenever the question arose. “How about you? How’s work?”

  Jerry rattled the ice around his glass. “It’s not the good old days, you know.” He snickered to himself. “Remember those? All fast cars and booze and girls with massive tits.”

  “I think there may be some incongruity in our two experiences.”

  “Don’t give me that, Elsie,” he said. “I still remember the first time I saw you, gliding down Alto’s staircase in that glittering gold dress. A vision, a fucking sensation. I was kicking myself that I hadn’t met you first. The most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. But as fast as he could, there was Rich, offering you his manhattan. That bastard. You know, I was chasing him because he was fresh out of rehab. And his therapist was clear: no drinks, no nothing.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “But I didn’t need to chase him, did I? Because there he was, offering the glass to you. Bastard lied next time I saw him. Said he never meant to drink it. I was saving it for the most beautiful woman in the world, he said. That’s why he offered it to you, Elsie.” His words slurred together. “Beautiful woman in the world.”

  “And the rest is history,” I said. Then: “I don’t know if I’d have ever gone for you, though. That baggy bird-egg suit you used to wear, pulled up to your belly button. And the glasses.”

  “Those goddamn aviators.” Jerry shook his head. Chuckled. “God, Elsie, we thought we’d never be fifty. Immortal. Invincible.”

  “Please,” I replied. “That was you and Richard. I had a young daughter to think about.”

  “Later, maybe—but that girl in the gold dress…”

  That gold dress, the swimming pools, the mirrors—someone else’s credit card sculpting lines on the glass staircase.

  “Bigger hair,” I mused.

  “Smaller waistlines.”

  I rapped his forearm.

  There was an eruption of laughter from the other side of the room.

  “Nicotine Fantastic, how’s that?” said Kei.

  “Honestly? I love it,” exclaimed Honey. “I would be…Professor B. No wait, Liquid Fire.”

  “Why?” Kei said. “You got a UTI?”

  He laughed.

  “Do me,” said Charlie.

  “Wonderboy,” Kei said. “Oh, I know what our group name would be—”

  “Our squad.”

  “We would be the Renegades.”

  There was a chorus of agreement.

  “And our number-one enemy,” she continued, “would most definitely have to be Richard, because of—”

  “The accent.”

  “Yes, the accent, oh my god.”

  “And his name,” said Kei, triumphant, “is Maverick.”

  “Like MaveRick?” asked Charlie. “As in Richard?”

  “Congratulations, Charlie”—Honey patted him on the back—“you finally understood a joke.”

  “Fuck off.”

  As the others laughed, Honey looked up, caught me watching. I turned back to the window, tried not to eavesdrop again, but it was difficult with Jerry’s silence.

  I said quietly, “Shall we join the others? Or we could go outside.”

  Jerry was lost in the view. “Huh?”

  “Never mind,” I told him.

  There was another burst of laughter.

  “…and then Richard was like, It’s not a breed of fish, it’s the name of my accountant.” Honey was echoing Richard’s vowels. “But you should have seen this guy’s face, it was hilarious. Literally hilarious.”

  The group was quiet for a moment.

  Charlie spoke next. “So, uh, you guys are back together now? Everything’s…”

  “It’s cool,” said Honey. “Yeah, we’re good. I don’t—”

  Charlie made a noise, as though he was about to speak.

  Honey went on: “I kind of don’t want to talk about it, if you don’t mind. You know.”r />
  “Sure, man,” said Charlie. “Yeah, sure. That’s cool with me.”

  I watched their reflections in the glass. The faces were blurred, but I could imagine Kei staring angrily at Charlie.

  Someone was tapping a beer bottle in the group’s silence.

  “So…” said Charlie after a while. “Pretty nuts about that Thanksgiving thing. You really didn’t have it as a kid?”

  “And no birthdays,” said Honey. “No presents, no Halloween.”

  “That’s crazy, man. Did you— What does your family think about Richard?”

  “Charlie,” warned Kei.

  “What?”

  “Don’t push it. He said he didn’t want to talk about—”

  “No, it’s fine,” said Honey. “It’s…yeah, I don’t really speak to them now.”

  “Wow, man. I cannot imagine that. My brother’s like my best—”

  “Charlie,” said Kei. “Seriously, dude.”

  “What? He is.”

  “Yeah, I miss my little brother,” said Honey. “We were pretty close growing up. But there’s this rule in the Church and it’s like when you leave, you leave. So he hasn’t spoken to me since I was seventeen, and he was…I guess fifteen?”

  Charlie said, “That’s fucked up.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Kei.

  Honey took a long breath. “You know, I’m not angry with him. It hurt, but I’m not angry.”

  The other two waited for him to continue.

  “I’ve tried to reach out to him a couple times over the years. He’s still in Minnesota. But he never— One time I even waited outside his house. And he brushed past like he’d never met me.”

  Honey dropped his head. “He thinks it’s the right thing to do.” He clasped his hands over his neck. “They tell you that if you love someone and they leave the Church, you have to shun them. So they’ll repent and return, you know? That’s what he really believes,” Honey said. He lifted his head. “That’s why I’m not angry. When he ignores me, I know it’s coming from love and not hate. Although it didn’t feel like that when I was younger, it’s…It took a lot of time.”

  “I can’t imagine what that must be like,” said Kei.

  “I always think,” Honey said, “one day maybe I’ll get to him. If I can’t speak to him on the street, then…not with the modeling but it’s like, I don’t wanna do that forever. I want to make art, you know? Something my little brother might see, and he’ll know that I love him and I forgive him. It’s all about forgiveness. And love.” He laughed, rubbed his chin. “I’m sorry, I’ve been—”

  “No,” said Kei. “Dude. I think that’s beautiful.”

  “When you were growing up,” Charlie asked, “did you, like, watch normal TV?”

  The sky was a black-orange ember; the glow of the city. Helicopters circled the neighborhood below.

  “Are you feeling okay?” I asked Jerry. “You don’t seem yourself.”

  “I’d give anything to go back,” he said. I didn’t know whether Jerry was answering my question or talking to himself. “All the way back to the start.”

  He swirled the drink, threw it down in one gulp.

  “How did it come to this, Elsie?” Jerry was smiling, but his voice grew hoarse. “When did we get here?”

  “Well,” I offered, ever steady, “I’d say it’s always been getting to this—and the when is the how.”

  He propped one arm on the glass, brought his face to the window. Stared through at the peppering lights.

  And then I noticed the seam in the glass. I’d been foolish to think a pane this large could exist. I ran my finger down the groove.

  “This place is pretty amazing, huh?” Jerry said. “Your first time at Sedgwick?”

  I nodded.

  “Me too. Rich and I—we don’t hang out as much anymore.” He attempted another sip from his glass, not noticing it was empty. A drop rolled onto his tongue. “I was pretty shocked he invited me to this.”

  The group on the couches began to sing, something that could have been the theme song to a kids’ TV show.

  “We’re not his young, cool friends, are we?” I said, smiling. And then: “I don’t know, though, I think you’re wrong.”

  The singing crashed to laughter; it was pounding at my head.

  “It would be hell to go back to the start,” I said. “I wouldn’t want to be that naïve again.”

  Jerry did not reply. Kept looking through the window. His empty glass in his hand, hanging by his side.

  * * *

  —

  “How long have you known Jerry Debrowski?”

  “He was there when I met Richard for the first time,” I said. “But I don’t think…I can’t remember if I spoke to him that night. It would have been soon after that, though. So almost twenty-five years, I’d say.”

  “He’s a good friend?”

  “He was when I lived here, yes. But we lost touch after the divorce. He was closer to Richard.”

  The policewoman paused, leafed through her papers.

  I still had not gleaned the names of my interrogators. They’d handed me their business cards at the end of my first interrogation, but I hadn’t found them in my purse or pockets—who knew where the cards had ended up between the taxi, the mall, Lillie’s house. If I asked for the detectives’ names after all this time it might seem rude, might turn them against me. The metal table between us was just about too wide to read their shining badges.

  I made a mental note to ask Scott later. He would have kept the cards they’d given him somewhere safe—and he wasn’t the type to forget a name.

  We had met for coffee an hour before our appointment at the station. Green tea for me—I was already too jittery for caffeine—and a caramel mocha with whipped cream for Scott.

  “I have a sweet tooth,” he said, grinning, then, “You wanted to discuss something?”

  I didn’t tell him about the confrontation with Yola—she had been distraught, caught up in the moment, and there was no need to escalate things by involving my lawyer. Instead, I explained that the last interrogation had thrown me: the follow-up questions, the female cop’s remark that it was “convenient” I was falling asleep when Richard took the drugs.

  “Scott”—I drew close, lowering my voice even though our corner was deserted—“do you think I should be worried? About being a suspect?”

  He thought for a while. Ate a spoonful of cream.

  Before he could speak, I held out my arms, laughed, and added, “I mean, there’s no way I’d be strong enough to do that to someone.”

  “Elspeth,” Scott said, unsmiling, “let’s be real here. Your ex-husband was probably already unconscious. You wouldn’t have needed to be a linebacker to take him out.”

  So Lillie had been right to worry. And I’d been naïve.

  “Look, I’m not trying to worry you,” he went on. “But let’s not get too comfortable. You’re a person of interest in this investigation. You were present at the scene. You were the ex. These are just the facts, Elspeth, and you know me, I’m not going to sugarcoat it. The police will be investigating you seriously.”

  Had I missed the suspicions behind certain questions?

  “However”—Scott scooped more cream—“let’s also not forget the facts in your favor. There were seven other guests that night, who were also close with Richard. You don’t have close—or let’s say recent—ties to any of the other guests. So I doubt the police are interested in investigating you for conspiracy or as an accomplice. You didn’t take anything that night, unlike other guests. If I were a cop, I’d probably see you as one of the more reliable witnesses. And you’re a woman, mother of the—”

  “Exactly. Lillie. So how could I have done it?”

  “Well.” Scott sucked his spoon clean and jabbed it in my directi
on. “You still could have done it. If we’re discussing hypotheticals, Elspeth. All I’m trying to say is that you’re not a likely suspect if we consider all the facts. But here’s the thing: I only know what I know. You’ll remember me asking that question when you first called. And you assured me you were innocent.”

  He had—but I’d let it slip past. I had been gabbling, apologetic about not calling sooner.

  “I should add,” he said, more gently now, “that I don’t think you’re being aggressively investigated, not currently. As I mentioned to you in that first conversation…” He slowed his speech, as though he knew I hadn’t listened the first time. “Should the situation change, my advice would be to bring in a local attorney. I’m glad you have me on retainer, but if things take a turn, you’d be better off with a criminal attorney who has experience with jury trials.”

  Those last two words slammed through me. Suspicions were one thing—charges entirely another. For Lillie to see that? Unthinkable.

  I gripped my mug, let it scorch my palms. “Is there anything we can do to prevent that kind of…development?”

  “As I keep saying, record your memories of that night as they come to you,” said Scott. “Be clear and honest with the police. Directly answer their questions. Do not, do not, communicate with the other guests. These are simple things, Elspeth. Straightforward. I don’t want to scare you, but let’s not lose sight of the situation we’re in.”

  I ran over those instructions as we walked into the station, returned to the empty interrogation room, that hard plastic chair, the cold table. Repeated them like a mantra as the policewoman searched through her papers. Clear, honest, direct.

  “It’s funny,” she murmured. “You say you weren’t close to Mr. Debrowski. But I’ve got testimony from one of the waitresses here. She said he immediately approached you when you arrived at the function. Gave you a kiss.”

  “Yes. I mean, I guess he did,” I said. “Sure.”

  The detective looked up from her notes. “You didn’t mention that before.”

  “You didn’t ask,” I said. And then, worried that this sounded critical, I explained, “Like I said, I lost touch with Jerry after the divorce. But when I saw him at the party, I was pleased we’d have a chance to catch up.”